Passionate Kisses

by Various

  “Yes. Not for a long time, mind now. But I want to save up a bit of money. I’m thinking of taking a trip.”

  Elsie opened her mouth but no words came out.

  “Now don’t start. This is why I’m not telling your mother, or father.” Aunt Ida religiously permed her hair every six weeks, and the tight curls bounced as she shifted to face Elsie with conviction.

  “I’m an old woman, Elsie. My parts are givin’ out on me. And I’ve never gone anywhere or done anything other than the scattered trip into St. John’s. I’ve never been on a plane. It was alright when I was younger. I didn’t know what I was missing. But everything I see on television, all those places and people and I can only see it on that box. I want to go to Scotland. My mother’s people came over from Scotland and I want to see it. Men in kilts, wooly cows, real heather. I want to see it all for real.” Rather than looking sad, the elderly woman’s eyes danced with excitement.

  “Aunt Ida, if that’s what you want, I can take you on a holiday.”

  “No, Elsie. I don’t want to be taken. I want to go.” She thumped her cane on the floor, narrowly missing Elsie’s toes. “I want to earn my own way, and do what I want to do. If you pay for it, then it’s your trip. I want my own trip. I want to plan it, and I want to go on my own.”

  There was no way anyone in the Walsh family was letting the woman, who was nearly a centenarian, for Pete’s sake, go off to Scotland on her own. They wouldn’t even let her wander around the mall on her own when they took her to St. John’s. Still, Elsie couldn’t say no.

  And so it was that Heart’s Ease Inn hired its very first concierge. Ida had done her research and figured that was the best job for her. She knew every nook and cranny around and was sure she could ensure guests got the inside scoop on everything they needed to know to enjoy their stay. Elsie just hoped she wouldn’t come to regret it.

  TWO

  The light on the GPS indicated he had arrived at his destination. But Campbell Scott found himself perched near the edge of a cliff with nothing around him but short, stumpy trees that looked like they’d battled to the death with the wind and were just refusing to die gracefully. This was not the best start to his week. He’d spent the better part of two hours flying above St. John’s while the pilot waited for the all-clear to land in the thickest fog Cam had ever seen. It made the fog of London seem like a fine mist.

  He’d programmed the location of the bed and breakfast into his GPS and set off, only to find himself lost in a series of small communities that began with the word Heart. Heart’s Delight. Heart’s Content. Heart’s Desire. But where was Heart’s Ease? And where was the damned bed and breakfast? This was the fifth time he’d programmed in the location, and the fifth desolate location the unit had directed him to.

  He’d tried calling the place to find out where in the hell it was but he had yet to find any decent cell service. He picked up his iPhone and was shocked to see one weak bar on display. It was worth a try.

  The ring crackled, like he was dialing 1982, but at least it was ringing.

  “Hello?”

  The voice on the other end was older than he expected. “Hello. Is this the Heart’s Ease Inn?”

  “Oh my. Are you Scottish?” the voice trilled.

  “Aye. Have I rung the inn?”

  “I’m planning a trip to Scotland. Where abouts are you from?”

  “Glasgow. Excuse me but...”

  “Oh, a Glaswegian, are you? I was hoping for Edinburgh. I don’t have any plans to go to Glasgow myself. Heard it’s a bit of a rough spot.”

  Sweet lord. Even in this godforsaken small corner of the globe people had impressions of Glasgow. “Pardon me, madam, but I’m looking for the Heart’s Ease Inn.”

  “Oh yes. This is it. Looking to book a room are you? It’s pretty pricy, you know.”

  “I have a room booked. I just can’t seem to find the place.” He was also beginning to wonder if he wanted to if he was going to have to deal with this woman for the duration.

  “You didn’t go to Little Heart’s Ease, did you? That’s on the other side of the bay, my son, and you’ll have a good couple of hours drive to get here if that’s the case.”

  The woman at the car rental kiosk had warned him of that; at least he knew he wasn’t that far off the mark.

  “No, I’m pretty sure I’m nearby. I just can’t find the bloody place.”

  “Watch your language, boy. Now where are you then?”

  It was just his luck to get a schoolmarm on the line.

  “I have no idea. I’m in a field.”

  “What field?”

  “I don’t know. It’s green. There’s grass and trees.”

  “Now don’t go gettin’ snippy. Of course there’s grass and trees. Now, what else?”

  Campbell looked around. “I can see water, and...oh, it’s just a field. No fence. No building. No cows. Sheep. Nothing. Just a great big grassy area with some gnarled trees.”

  “Oh, that could be a couple of spots. Now we’re getting somewhere.” He could swear she was cackling with glee. “Now, what’s the last sign you saw?”

  That Campbell could answer, because he still couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d even taken a picture and texted it to his sister with a terse, “Where the hell have you sent me?”

  “It said Worms. Ice. Cold Beer,” Cam told the woman.

  “Excellent. We’re getting somewhere now,” the woman intoned. “Was it one of them neon magnetic signs, or was it more homemade?”

  “It was attached to a derelict gas station. And it was written on cardboard.”

  “Oh, sure you’ve gone too far.” The woman proceeded to give him what turned out to be surprisingly good directions, and in under fifteen minutes he was driving along a narrow, pothole ridden road that wound itself around a steep cliff face. At the end of the road, past the closed fish plant, and a long yellow wharf with several small fishing boats tied up to it, loomed a hill with a sprawling yellow Victorian-style mansion with red trim atop it.

  It was a three-storey building, except for the centre, which could have housed another few rooms. If this were his house, it’s where he would build his studio. It really was spectacular, even in the cold drizzle. He marveled over how the clapboard could keep such a rich colour. The salt in the air should have dulled it, yet it looked as if it were freshly painted. Several large, red burning bushes dotted the front grounds.

  As he pulled up the gravel driveway he began to see why the publishers had decided to send him here. If there was any place to get inspired, this was it.

  At first glance you’d think this was a desolate place. Its isolation and the sparse landscape made you think of loneliness. But then subtle things stood out. The blue jays fighting over seeds in a feeder shaped like the sun. Crisp white sheets flapping in the air, despite the mist, the clothesline dancing in the wind. Even the way all the tips of the small juniper trees pointed in the same direction. Looking toward the water, the view was breathtaking. White caps formed on the waves, and still he could see gulls riding them out with ease, as if this was their own personal surfer's nirvana.

  Shutting off the engine, he stepped out and took a deep breath. The wet, cool air filled his lungs. He smiled. This might be a good project after all.

  Cam slung his laptop bag over his shoulder and headed for the door. It opened before he put his hand to the knob and he was greeted by a short, white haired woman who looked to be nothing but tanned, wrinkled skin and bones.

  “Scotsman?” she asked, a smile of pure joy on her face. She wasn’t a crone at all. More like a lovable grandmother.

  “Ah, you’re my saviour then,” he said. “Thank you for the directions.” He bowed.

  “Now, you’re a fine-looking young man. Are ye married?”

  “Excuse me?” He chuckled.

  “Big, tall, handsome feller like yourself. You must have a wife.”

  Was this methuselan woman hitting on him?

  “Aunt Ida,” a chiding v
oice called. “If you’re going to work here you need to remember the first rule: no grilling the guests.”

  A small, well-manicured hand pulled the door wider, revealing an elegant arm, attached to the most beautiful creature Cam had ever seen—and he’d seen plenty of delicious women in his day.

  Long, wavy brown hair created a mahogany frame for deep green eyes and plump, tempting red lips. She was almost as short as the old woman, with curves in all the right places. Those curves were carefully covered in a tight ivory wool sweater and jeans. The only hint of imperfection was a small streak of dirt down one full, lush breast. It looked like potting soil, and he was tempted to brush it away, if for no other reason than to say he’d had the chance to touch such perfection.

  “Good afternoon,” she said, extending her hand. It disappeared in his. Never before had he noticed how massive and inelegant his own hands were. “I’m Elsie Walsh. Please forgive my Aunt’s rudeness. She’s in training.” She shot a glare at the older woman. “Auntie, can you make sure there’s fresh coffee brewed. One sugar, and a drop of Laphroaig.”

  How did she know that was how he liked his coffee? As if reading his mind, she gave a playful smile that sent bolts of lightning down his spine. And elsewhere.

  “It’s my job to ensure you feel at home here. You’d be surprised what I’ve learned about you in preparation for your arrival. Whoever booked your stay knows a fair bit about you.”

  “My sister,” he said quickly. It seemed important that she know that no random woman knew his special preferences. The ones outside the bedroom, at least.

  She simply smiled. A marvelous, beautiful, sensuous smile. “Welcome to Heart’s Ease Inn, Mr. Scott.” And she laughed. “I’m sorry. It just hit me. You’re Scottish.”

  What was it about these people and his nationality? “Yes, I see the humour,” he said, not getting the joke at all.

  She laughed harder. “You’re Scottish and your last name is Scott.”

  The woman was beautiful. And a little deranged. Just how he liked them.

  ——

  What am I doing?! Elsie clasped a hand over her mouth. Shut up now and stop acting like such a moron. This was the first time since she’d been in university that she wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. That time she had been a complete idiot in front of her Irish history prof. He was so cute that she just couldn’t speak right. Then she’d been nineteen. There was an excuse. There was no excuse for a thirty-one-year-old woman. Even if she was staring at the hottest piece of man she’d ever seen in her life. And that was saying something, given her guest log.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to pull herself together. Please stop looking at me! He was staring at her like she was a foreign species, trying to figure out if she was plain crazy or dangerously insane. “That’s not funny at all. I must be going loopy in the fog.”

  “No, that’s fine. It’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” he said, his thick Scottish burr rich and deep.

  The hairs on her arms rose in response.

  “Let me show you to your room.” Elsie turned away so that she wouldn’t have to keep seeing the incredulous look on his face. Clearly he thought she was a nitwit.

  As she led him up the stairs and down the wide hallway, she felt herself grow warm at the thought of him walking behind her. Was he thinking she was a loon, or was he enjoying the view? She was confident enough to know she had a decent bod; still, she imagined for someone like him, only a tall, lanky blonde could turn his head. He had to be at least six feet tall, with coal black hair that was just the right length. Not cut close but not sloppy either. If someone took a dash of Gerard Butler, added in a sprinkle of Daniel Craig, and then spiced it up with a little bit of Colin Farrell, then she figured this would be the end result.

  She had no idea what colour his eyes were but they were dark, like pools of ink. He had just a slight bit of stubble on his face, enough to make him appear a little wild, and a strong face that clearly had seen a fair bit of sun. Add all that to a body that just oozed strength, and you had the total package. An honest-to-God, perfect specimen of masculinity.

  This was not good. Not good at all. Lusting after a guest was a definite no-no. And she was seriously lusting after this man. She had to keep far, far away from him. In a split second she decided that there was no way he was staying in this wing of the house. It was too close to her own suite of rooms. In fact, he couldn’t stay in the house at all.

  She turned suddenly. “Mr. Scott, you’re an artist, are you not?”

  “I am, yes.”

  Oh God. Don’t smile at me like that. Stop it. Stop smiling now!

  “And you’re going to be studying our sea birds?”

  “Aye. For a book I’m working on.”

  The man was a grinning idiot. A beautiful, temperature rising, heart palpitating idiot.

  “Well, I had an idea just now, and it might be of interest to you.” She opened the door to the nearest room and walked to the large window.

  “Do you see that little blue cottage over there? I sometimes rent it out to writers and other people who come here to do some quiet work. It has a fantastic view of the cliffs where the birds nest. Might you be interested in staying there?” Oh no. What if he thinks he’s not welcome here! “I mean, it’s just an idea. I can show you your room here and you can decide, if you like. I was just thinking...”

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” he said. “If it’s no trouble. I’m sure the view is spectacular, since the one from here is pretty magnificent itself.” It was then that she noticed he was staring at her, and not out the window.

  “Oh, it’s no trouble at all.” She hoped. In fact, she had no idea how much trouble it would be. The last time the cottage had been used was three years ago. Her brother, Will, had stayed there when he was working on a novel he never finished. In fact, the cottage was his. She’d never rented it out. But there was one thing she knew for certain and that was that it was dangerous to spend too much time around Campbell Scott.

  “How about you stay here tonight and I’ll get it all freshened up for you and you should be good to switch tomorrow.”

  Elsie had to get out of the room. There was something about the way he was looking at her that made her doubt her initial thoughts that he considered her an idiot. Truth be told, he was looking at her in a way that made her feel rather warm in all the right places. She left him standing in the room with a promise to get him straightened away and hurried down the stairs. What did it matter if she’d left him in the wrong room? She’d just switch it over in the book downstairs. And then she’d go get that cottage aired out.

  There were instincts that a woman knew to trust, and this one told her that it was for her own mental well-being that she get him installed in that cottage without delay.

  ——

  Cam found it rather entertaining watching the parade of people marching back and forth from the cottage where he was to spend the next few weeks. He had no real idea why the beautiful Ms. Walsh had decided she wanted to expel him from the inn, but he did take some measure of delight in thinking that perhaps she was as attracted to him as he was to her. And perhaps a secluded cottage might be more appropriate for any intimate meetings. Because he’d decided there was more on the agenda for this trip than just sketching some kittiwakes and turrs.

  There weren’t many women that he’d wanted to seduce from the moment he’d met them. None of them stirred in him the thoughts the petite Ms. Walsh did. She was small and delicate, and he imagined that a night with her would be an exercise in gentleness. His last couple of partners—he hated the word girlfriend for a man his age, although he supposed to really consider a woman a girlfriend one would need to spend more than a night or two with her—were tall, strong, Amazonian types that matched him move for move. And while that was enjoyable, it was a long time since he’d been with a woman who made him feel like the dominant partner in the bedroom. Given their sheer difference in size, he couldn’t imagin
e anything but him being in control with her.

  As he spent the afternoon playing out fantasy after fantasy in his mind, he also paid attention to the way she directed the men lugging furniture out of the cottage and hefting new pieces in. He watched a floral patterned single mattress that looked as if it had been repeatedly squat by a seven hundred pound sumo wrestler get moved into a shed and a large pillow-topped mattress get squeezed through the door as its replacement.

  Out came a ratty sofa.

  In went a leather recliner.

  Other ratty pieces were removed, only to be replaced by more elegant and masculine items. She must have been gutting a room somewhere in the house to have such things readily at hand.

  Had he been another man, perhaps he would have felt a little bit of guilt at the amount of work she was going through in order to get the cottage ready for him. But since she was the one to suggest moving him to what she had to have known was a work-in-progress, he was content to watch the lengths she was willing to go to in order to make him comfortable. And no small part of him thought of perhaps other ways she’d be willing to go out of her way in order to satisfy him. Yes. Coming here was just what he needed.

  When he’d accepted the commission to work on this bird project it was because his sister had asked him to do it as a personal favour to help her impress her boss at the publishing house she worked for. It turned out the man was batty for birds, and if Daphne could pull off this project, complete with the hard-to-hire Campbell Scott onboard, then a nice promotion was in her future. He hadn’t worked on a collection of animal pieces in several years. These days he was more likely to be working on vanity portraits of England’s elite than on wildlife. But he couldn’t say no to his little sister. Never could. Now he had even more reason to be thankful to her.

  He watched until it became too dark to see anymore. He knew she was in there, because every now and again he saw her shadow move behind the curtains, an ethereal creature that exuded grace. When he went down to dinner—or supper, as the ever-chattering Ida informed him—he hoped to see her greet her guests. But there was no sign of her. He was invited to sit with a lovely couple from America, and they regaled him with stories of their adventures on the island of Newfoundland. By the time he’d had dessert and coffee they’d written a list of places he just had to see while he was there. They headed off to their room, leaving Campbell wondering how to spend the rest of his evening.